


Clinton Francis Barton

by SomebodyWhoLovesMe



Series: The Bonds That Made Us [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Archery, Brotherly Love, Circus, Murder-Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyWhoLovesMe/pseuds/SomebodyWhoLovesMe
Summary: This is it. This is his escape. He and Barney left, they found a place to hide, make some money find their home, away from their parents. Those monsters. But Barney left, the monsters are gone but something's still haunting Clint.I've been trying to get in touch with user EQfan74, if you know them or can contact them, please send them my way.





	Clinton Francis Barton

Clint couldn’t help but love the sense of adrenaline that rushed through his body as he and his brother ran farther and farther away from the trailer they’d called home,

“Clint! Hurry up! They’ll realize and come looking, if we ain’t off and gone by then, we’ll have our asses whooped harder than ever before.”

“I can’t keep up! Your legs are longer!”

He did, they made it two towns over before they stopped for a breath, 

“Excuse me Sir?” His older brother said as politely as Clint's ever heard him

“Yes?”

“Do you know where the nearest circus is?”

“It’s playing right now, in middle of town, will be all night.”

“Thanks mister!” He said, running down the street, Clint on his heels.

They ran past clowns, stilt walkers, jugglers and more as they made their way to a trailer that said “Circus Director.”

He knocked, “Whatchu boys want, don’t ya see this ain’t no clown car.” A fat man answered the door, frowning.

“We’d like to join the circus.”

He frowned harder, “We ain't’ no charity, we can’t harbor runaways, and we don’t need no stable hands.”

“We got talent, I’m the most flexible boy you’ll ever meet!”

“We have acrobates, we don’t need any skinny pimply teenage ones,”

“My brother, can hit anything with a bow and arrow!”

The man considered him, as if noticing Clint for the first time.

“Lemme see.”

So they went out back, the fat man handed Clint an old bow and arrow set up some cans, and made him stand real far away.

“Miss one and you’re out, neither you or your brother.”

Clint gulped, he felt the nerves numb his fingers. He couldn’t make this, there was too much at stake.

“It’s ok Clint, you’ve shot way harder than this.”

With a grateful glance, Clint refocused the bow, aimed and fired. The first can fell with a thunk, he tilted slightly, released and the second one was down, over and over he shot till there weren’t any cans standing.

“We’ll all be. You must got perfect aim boy. Damn miracle. You two can perform in our show tonight. We’ll see how you do with the crowd.”

Clint gripped the bow and his brothers hand with joy. This was their escape, this was their chance.

The first act didn’t go well, he messed up a little on his acrobatics, but no one seemed to notice, he never fell, he never frowned. Not till he got off stage.

“You’re up kid.”

It was his turn. He felt a little silly in his costume, all black but sparkly, he must’ve looked cute because all the women aww when he came out, and gasped when they handed him a bow and arrow. 

They’d set moving targets this time, not that that was a problem but he wished they’d told him. He shot all bullseyes, and stole the show from the regulars, who were not happy.

He didn’t care. He’d made it. He and his brother were free. They were given a tent to sleep in, and Clint went to bed care free for the first time. 

He was awoken, by his brothers voice,

“You want me to join you?”

“Yeah, you seem like our kinda material.”

“And the pay is triple?”

“You bet, the works a little different, but worth it.”

“I’m in, lemme wake my brother.”

“Woah woah, the archer right? Yeah, he’s not in. Not really our style, too young.”

“But I can’t leave him,”

“Are you kidding? Did you see him, he’ll be making loads of money with his act.”

Clint held his breath.

“Yeah ok, I’ll go.”

He waited till there was no sound from outside the tent before he ran. Ran. Ran. He found his trailer he went closer and closer.

“Yep, we’ve got a murder-suicide on out hands, husband offs wife then himself, kids are nowhere to be found.”

Clint never went back to the trailer, he was found by police, sent to therapy, then foster care after foster care, group home after group home. He was 15 when he went to his 13th home, and his social worker's given up on him. He wasn’t quite there yet though.


End file.
